


Survive

by Anxiety_Elemental



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Dragons, Gen, Mild Medical Horror, Near Death Experiences, Sad Cyborg Time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 18:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17329889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anxiety_Elemental/pseuds/Anxiety_Elemental
Summary: “I’m dead, aren’t I?” Genji says, and even in his dream he feels himself shake, “Hanzo killed me, brother killed me, why would he...”“Not yet,”says one dragon,“Your spirit is bright and strong, and your body has not yet failed.”“We will save you,”says the other,“I will give you my strength, and you will live.”





	Survive

**Author's Note:**

> Occasionally I’ll see speculation as to why Hanzo has two dragons but Genji only has one. I don’t think there’s intended to be any deep meaning but there’s one theory I’m super in love with so I wanted to expand on that, and add a little bit to it for funsies. Also sadness. Because I love suffering.

 

When he wakes, there’s a moment when he doesn’t remember, and nothing is wrong.

 

Genji is laying down, the mattress beneath him is stiff, the sheets covering him are thin, so it’s not his own bed. That’s not so unusual, nothing alarming. It’s when he tries to roll over, and feels something tugging at his left arm, that he opens his eyes.

 

Bright fluorescents immediately blind him, he flinches reflexively and that sends small jolts of pain through his body. Parts of his body. So much of him is numb now, he realizes. When he tries to raise his hand to rub his eyes he begins to realize why.

 

He looks down at his left arm instead, where he’d felt something tug earlier. There’s an IV in his arm, along with numerous other wires and tubes he doesn't know the purpose of. They’re not just in his arm, but some in his neck, and he thinks he feels more down his body and hidden under the sheet. He looks up and sees something different.

 

It’s a dragon spirit, spectral and bright green. She’s standing by his bedside, looking down at him. There is something somber in her gaze, a sadness he’s never seen in her before.

 

_“You have survived, dragon-child,”_ she says, her voice a low rumble, _“Just as was promised.”_

 

Genji feels himself relax just the smallest amount despite himself at the sight of something familiar. Then he frowns slightly, and looks around the room as best he can from where he rests. There is more medical equipment, no window, a couple of chairs to one side. He sees only the one spirit.

 

He opens his mouth to speak, and the sound he makes is thin and weak. Before he can try again, the dragon vanishes just as he hears a distant crash. His head snaps in the direction of the sound and pain pops through what’s left of his body again. The door to his room bursts open and a woman in a wrinkled lab coat runs in, blonde hair disheveled, dark bags under her eyes.

 

“You’re awake!” says the woman, speaking English in some European accent Genji can’t place, “Oh I’m so glad, we weren’t sure you would! How do you feel, are you in pain?”

 

Even if he could speak, Genji doesn’t know what he’d say.

 

\---

 

His clan had an ancient pact with the dragon spirits.

 

How much was myth and how much was true was a mystery and a topic of great debate over the generations within his family. One version of the story says it’s because the Shimadas are descended from dragons who chose to live among humans. Another says that an ancestor performed a great feat which impressed a local spirit. There are other versions and more variants thereof. Genji never cared to speculate.

 

The dragons were secretive creatures, not well understood even to those bonded to them. There were things that were known, secrets carefully handed down from parent to child across generations of Shimadas. Genji had never taken much of an interest in the lore of their dragons, along with the rest of the family history and present-day business. It was suffocating, the weight of expectation he didn’t want or asked for.

 

It didn’t bother him that he didn’t understand as much as he could, he felt he knew enough. He could call the dragons’ rage in time of danger, ask for the dragons’ wisdom in times of doubt. The dragons made no other demands of him, and he needed nothing else of them. Anything else he considered unimportant.

 

He regrets that now.

 

\---

 

He knows he is dreaming. The blossoms have long since fallen from the cherry trees in his home, but here they are still in full bloom, gentle pastel pinks usually beautiful and soothing to see. Moreover he is standing, whole and unharmed, when his memory is still fresh with the feeling of being torn apart and burned. Butchered like an animal under a blade, and bright blue spectral teeth closing in around him.

 

The two spirits are waiting for him. Ethereal and proud, the twin green dragon spirits stand in the courtyard of Shimada castle, two sets of intense, unblinking stares fixed on him. All he can do is stand still, dread and fear and confusion choking him, paralyzing him.

 

“I’m dead, aren’t I?” Genji says, and even in his dream he feels himself shake, “Hanzo killed me, brother killed me, why would he...”

 

_“Not yet,”_ says one dragon, _“Your spirit is bright and strong, and your body has not yet failed.”_

 

_“We will save you,”_ says the other, _“I will give you my strength, and you will live.”_

 

The second dragon approaches, great clawed feet making no sound, and Genji cannot move. She presses her nose to his forehead, gentle and soft. Almost motherly, Genji tries not to think.

 

_“You will survive this, dragon-child,”_ she promises.

 

He remembers nothing else.

 

\---

 

He is rebuilt and stitched back together. Dead and missing flesh replaced with metal and wires. The doctors tell him he survived, more than survived, though one admits she isn’t sure how.

 

Once, strange people come to him and show him pictures, and ask questions.

 

The images aren’t always in focus, as if taken quickly. Often there’s a nurse or doctor in the shot too, obscuring some detail. Some appear to have been taken in some kind of transport, poorly lit and probably unsteady. Others in an operating room, bright and busy. But underneath the gloved hands and tubes and wires and metal tools, there’s something else.

 

Green scales, bloodied, cracked in places, burned away in others. A clawed foot, mangled, toes missing. An oxygen mask hastily modified to fit over a snout.

 

The only clear images were at the end, of shed scales, nearly transparent and colorless, carefully laid out under a light to be photographed and examined. The skin turned to dust shortly after, they said.

 

They want an explanation.

 

Genji says nothing.

 

When they press him, he punches the closest person, and as he reels Genji threatens the others.

 

They never ask again.

 

\---

 

It is a long time before the dragon spirit appears to him again.

 

He’s been moved out of the infirmary, given his own room. For that much he is grateful, he didn’t want to stay in the lab like some rat for the doctors to torture. Most of the rooms on the base were doubles but the other side of Genji’s remained empty. Apparently he’s considered too volatile to have a roommate. He’s grateful for that small mercy.

 

He cannot sleep that night, as he can’t most nights now. Can’t even drink himself to sleep now, his doctors telling him his body doesn’t have the means to properly process it anymore. They’re hesitant to give him medication as they don’t know what dosage will work or what will outright kill him. They try other things, supplements mostly, that don’t do enough. Most things aren’t enough now.

 

_“Dragon-child,”_ whispers a voice, one of the few things familiar in this new life. He rolls over and sees the green dragon spirit, once again standing over him by his bedside.

 

He’s seen the dragon spirits more often now that he ever has in his life.

 

“Why are you alone?” he asks, though he thinks he knows the answer.

 

The dragon lowers her head, stares at the ground, _“My sister is gone,”_ she says, voice heavy with grief, _“Your wounds were so terrible, she spent her strength to sustain you until you were found, until you could be stabilized and cared for. When her power was gone you lost her blessing, but by then you were already safe, surrounded by doctors who could care for you. Her sacrifice meant you could survive to see another sunrise.”_

 

“Survive,” Genji echoes. The doctors all said things like that too. He survived. Picked up and repurposed by people he didn’t know. They offered him a chance for vengeance, to walk again, in exchange for his service. A body that wasn’t wholly his, a new and bitter purpose. Expectation he didn’t want or asked for.

 

“I’m grateful,” he says, and he means it, though maybe not in the way she and the doctors think he should be, “When I kill Hanzo, it will be for her too.”

 

She looks back up at him, and there is still sorrow there, though Genji isn’t sure why. She leans her head forward, presses her nose to the metal plate covering his forehead. Then she is gone.

 

Genji turns away from where she stood, and again tries to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> [I have a Twitter now](https://twitter.com/AnxietyElementl) feel free to bother me.


End file.
